


January

by Elvendork



Series: Calendar Verse [6]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Calendar Verse, F/M, Family, fluff & nonsense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 23:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5517845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvendork/pseuds/Elvendork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which certain promises are made official.</p>
            </blockquote>





	January

**Author's Note:**

> You guys I FINISHED IT. I meant to have this done _months_ ago, but I hit a real block on the final scene, and I've been ridiculously busy, but... well, Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy this instalment.
> 
> A note on the final scene: [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tl0DMTlwLw4) is the song mentioned. I suggest you do not click that link until you reach "Herc recognises the tune..." because otherwise it will just ruin it.

‘Do you think Mum and Herc are going to have a baby?’ asks Arthur, naively curious.

‘ _ What _ ?’ Douglas jumps so much he very nearly topples their entire  _ Jenga _ tower. The fact of it remaining upright is surely due far more to luck than judgement.

‘Do you think Mum and Herc are going to have a baby?’ Arthur repeats innocently. Martin, listening to his brothers’ stalled game from atop his bed, slowly lowers his book and blinks owlishly at them, waiting for Douglas’s response.

‘Why on Earth would they do that?’ Douglas demands, looking – for once – thoroughly flummoxed at the idea.

‘They’re getting married.’ Arthur explains, removing a small wooden block from the stack in front of him with surprising dexterity, and placing it at the summit quite casually. He seems not to notice Douglas’s open-mouthed incredulity, or Martin’s puzzled frown. 

‘That doesn’t mean they’re going to have a  _ baby _ ,’ Douglas argues, not bothering to reach towards the tower again. ‘Where did you get that idea from?’

‘Well Mum married your Dad and then they had you, and then she married my Dad and had me and Martin… So now she’s marrying Herc does that mean they’ll have babies too?’

‘That’s not – I mean – they aren’t – of course they won’t!’ Douglas splutters.

‘Why not?’ Arthur presses, then glances at the wooden blocks between them. ‘It’s your turn, Douglas.’

‘What? Oh – I – they just  _ won’t _ ,’ Douglas reaches out distractedly and makes quite a show of taking out his chosen piece very, very slowly, to delay the time when he will next have to speak. What is Arthur  _ thinking _ ?

‘But why not?’ Arthur presses calmly, unperturbed by Douglas’s confusion. He is either supremely confident that Douglas will – as ever – have an extremely impressive explanation at any moment now, or else the question is only of very passing concern to him. Douglas, on the other hand, is by now positively seething with previously unconsidered queries.

‘Because – because – because they’re too  _ old _ ,’ says Douglas eventually. ‘They can’t have babies anymore. They’re not allowed.’

‘Oh,’ says Arthur, looking rather crestfallen.

‘Why not?’ Martin pipes up from the bed. He has utterly abandoned his book by now, planes or no planes. He is almost as intrigued as Arthur, and almost as surprised as Douglas. The idea of another younger sibling – perhaps even a sister this time – has never occurred to him before. He cannot quite decide whether the thought is a pleasant one or not.

‘What?’ Douglas is now unmistakably flustered, though either his brothers do not notice or they do not care.

‘Why aren’t they allowed to have babies anymore?’

‘I told you,’ says Douglas, beginning to settle into his excuse and regaining a little of his habitual confidence. ‘They’re too old.’

‘But why does that mean they can’t have babies anymore?’

‘Because – they just – can’t, okay?’ Douglas insists. ‘It’s a grown-up thing. You wouldn’t understand.’ Implicit in this statement is the admonition that Douglas, of course, understands completely; it is only the younger boys who are as yet uninitiated into this secret world of adult knowledge and concerns. Neither Arthur nor Martin thinks to question this assertion, so the fact of it being somewhat a stretch of the _ absolute _ truth is not mentioned.

‘I think it would be brilliant,’ Arthur states matter-of-factly.

‘Of course you do,’ Douglas rolls his eyes. Martin is frowning slightly, still unsure whether the thought of a younger sibling is appealing or repulsive. He wonders what it would make him, if there were a fourth child in the house. He is comfortably in the middle now; there is no middle of four, so what would be his place then? It is not a troubling thought exactly, but it is a curious one.

Slowly though, this question is replaced by another, which seems suddenly far more pressing, and he wonders why it has never occurred to him before. It is not something he has ever devoted much thought to, but Arthur’s queries have brought it to the surface, and he needs no help to decide who he ought to ask. Douglas will know the answer, surely. Setting aside his book completely, Martin cocks his head to one side and fixes his eyes on his older brother.

‘Where do babies actually  _ come from _ , anyway?’ he asks.

This time the wooden tower does collapse, and though the ensuing chaos saves Douglas from the necessity of answering, even he cannot claim to have done it deliberately. 

00000

So passes much of the first week of the New Year. The brief lull after Christmas has carried their mismatched little family into a busier and more frightening period than ever before, and Douglas is inundated with questions not only from his brothers, but many of their friends as well. If nothing else it does rather distract him from his own concerns, so for the most part he offers no complaint. He can invent answers or avoid giving them altogether when necessary, and this way at least he feels a useful part of the proceedings.

The wedding is now in three days. The truce between Douglas and Herc is holding, though they both tread around it with deliberate caution. Relatives the boys never knew they had are pouring in from all sides; none as yet staying at the house overnight, but all making some appearance at dinner or for mysterious shopping trips which Carolyn always seems impatient to be finished with. 

The boys frequently find themselves seeking refuge at their friends’ homes for an afternoon or an evening. Theresa thinks the whole thing is extremely amusing, especially when Martin or Douglas expresses discomfort or confusion – why are there suddenly so many  _ napkins _ everywhere? And why do they have to  _ rehearse _ ? Herc and Carolyn have both been married before, after all; they should know what they are doing by now. 

Molly drinks in any details she can with rapturous interest; Tim Buckley questions Arthur relentlessly on what sort of cake there will be (his father says there is always cake, which naturally the younger boys think ranks as one of the best parts). Sherlock is not in the least bit interested, which at least offers the brothers a respite from all of the questions.

It is almost a relief when the fateful morning at last dawns, but there is a long way to go yet before it is over.

00000

‘Have you brushed your teeth?’ Carolyn asks abruptly, flicking her gaze briefly over to Arthur before returning to scowling at her hair in the mirror. Arthur bites his lip and looks uncertain.

‘Go and do it now,’ Carolyn instructs firmly. ‘And take that shirt off before you do!’ she calls after him, as he nods and rushes obligingly from the room. ‘I don’t want you getting toothpaste all over – oh, Douglas, you go and help him – and Martin, come here and stop fiddling with that tie, you’re making it worse. Where are your cufflinks?’

Martin shuffles over to Carolyn, who sits down heavily and gestures for him to stand in front of her so she can fix his tie, which he has wrapped into a quite impressive number of knots. He lets his hands fall to his sides dejectedly.

‘Douglas made it look easy,’ he complains, pouting.

‘Doesn’t he always?’ Carolyn replies with a sigh. ‘How on  _ Earth _ – oh, you know what, never mind, here – ouch!  _ How _ did you get it this tight without strangling yourself?’ Carolyn shakes her hand sharply and just about refrains from swearing at the pain in her bent fingernail. She is glad she chose not to varnish them, or this would be putting all the effort to waste.

By the time she has finally managed to unpick the mess that is Martin’s tie, Douglas has returned with a shirtless Arthur in tow. The younger boy is, predictably, grinning from ear to ear. The older looks slightly queasy but considerably more neatly dressed than either of his brothers. Carolyn decides it is best to ignore his obvious nerves, and instructs him to help Martin with his cufflinks while she sorts Arthur out.

‘Mum, are you and Herc going to have a baby?’ Arthur asks, patiently allowing Carolyn to manoeuvre his arms back into his crisp white shirt. Douglas’s hands freeze at Martin’s wrists; Martin’s head spins around so fast he cricks his neck; and Herc splutters with indignation or shock, it is hard to tell which. Carolyn hardly reacts.

‘Not everything Tim Buckley says is the gospel truth, dear heart,’ she replies coolly, lining up the buttons ready to fasten.

‘What does gospel mean?’

‘It’s – I just mean Tim isn’t always right about everything, okay?’ Arthur looks thoughtful and watches intently as his mother swiftly buttons his shirt.

‘Are you too old to have babies?’

This time Carolyn hears a small  _ slap _ as though someone – she suspects Martin – has clapped their hands over their mouth, a choking sound she assumes is Douglas, and a quickly stifled chuckle she will pretend, for Herc’s sake and the sake of their upcoming wedding, that she did not notice.

‘I’m sorry?’ she manages, in a dignified but decidedly chilly voice as she reaches the final button.

‘Douglas says you’re too old to have babies. Is that true?’

‘I am afraid, Arthur, that much like Tim Buckley, your brother likes to pretend he knows more than he actually does.’ Carolyn finishes tucking in Arthur’s shirt and pulls the collar straight gently before picking up his tie and starting on that.

‘So does that mean you  _ will _ have babies?’ Arthur presses insistently, beginning to get restless and fidgeting where he stands. Douglas has long since finished with Martin’s cufflinks, and the older boys are watching the conversation with a mixture of horror and fascination few subjects can evoke.

‘Not in the immediate future,’ Carolyn replies firmly, standing up at last and surveying her three sons approvingly. ‘You’ll do,’ she pronounces, putting an unquestionable end to the topic of babies, at least for now. ‘Try and keep your suits in one piece for an hour or two, won’t you?’

00000

Some ten minutes of bickering and tie-straightening later they are all piling into two gleaming hired cars; Carolyn and the boys in one, with Herc and his siblings in the other. Douglas is feeling distinctly ill. Martin is still puzzling over the thought of where a fourth child would place him in the pecking order. Arthur is bouncing up and down in his seat and peering excitedly out of the window, while Carolyn scolds him for ruining his suit and straining his seatbelt.

The tight, fluttering feeling in Carolyn’s stomach must be travel sickness. Her light-headedness is down to lack of sleep, and her impatience is merely because she has had quite enough of Arthur’s exuberance already today – and it is barely ten in the morning. She drums her fingers on the car door and frowns at the passing scenery; mostly busy roads and nondescript houses, littered with an inordinate number of couples. Most of them are a good deal either younger or older than her; she cannot decide which is worse.

She closes her eyes, hearing Douglas tug Arthur back into his seat for the dozenth time. They had better be there soon.

000000

‘Is that a special book?’

‘Yes, Arthur, now be quiet.’

‘I thought weddings were in churches.’

‘Have you listened to  _ anything _ for the last  _ year _ , Martin?’

‘Why are they doing it again?’

‘It’s for photographs.’

‘Why can’t they just take photographs the first time?’

‘Why can’t you two just shut up for once?’

‘Is it over now?’

‘This bit’s over. There’s loads more to go yet.’

00000

The actual wedding itself takes something less than twenty minutes. Neither Carolyn nor Herc had been especially keen on a large ceremony, and the small crowd which gathers to watch them sign the registry consists entirely of close family; parents, siblings, and children only. It is short and simple, and Carolyn feels a great weight lift from somewhere around her midriff as the final photograph is taken. (Why is it always the shoulders that take the brunt of things? It feels as though Carolyn’s burden is tied securely around her waist.)

There is only the meal to go now – and the dance, she supposes. Would that count as a Reception? Shouldn’t she know these things, having been through two separate marriages already, not even bringing Herc’s into the equation, and having spent interminable months planning this whole charade?

Whatever is the proper term, it cannot possibly be worse than the rigmarole which either of her other weddings had involved. 

Although, she thinks resignedly as Martin shoves Douglas, who is smirking in evident amusement, at neither of those had she had three sons to watch out for in the process.

00000

The meal is more of a buffet than a formal dinner, for which Carolyn is grateful. The boys would not be able to contain themselves in stiff suits with unpronounceable meals in uncomfortable chairs for more than half an hour, at most. Carolyn herself might manage forty minutes.

The group from the official wedding enter the large hall together, with Carolyn and Herc leading the way. Carolyn is holding Herc’s hand on the right side and Arthur’s on the left; to Herc’s right is Martin, then Douglas.

They have barely passed through the grand double doors, barely glimpsed the circular, white clothed tables lining the edges of the room, or the long benches of food against the back wall, have hardly had time to process the large empty space in the centre, cleared for dancing – before the cheering starts. All the rest of their guests – cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, and other assorted hangers-on – are present, and all burst into rapturous applause as the wedding party looks on. Confetti is thrown, somebody wolf-whistles, an already drunken uncle laughs uproariously, and everyone is beaming, and everyone is watching them, and –

Carolyn wants to resent it, she  _ does _ , but instead she finds herself smiling even as she raises her eyebrows, and Arthur is leaping up and down with excitement, and now there are balloons – where did the balloons come from? – floating towards the ceiling, streamers and ribbons and cries of joy, and –

Carolyn is  _ happy _ .

And she is going to  _ kill _ Herc.

And she is shaking her head and laughing, and even Douglas looks pleased; Martin is startled but grinning; Arthur is declaring everything is sight to be  _ brilliant _ –

All of this in the few seconds before someone is pushing past them, someone from the wedding party is moving forwards, placing himself in the centre of the room – it is Wellington, one of Herc’s brothers, and he has a microphone, and –

‘I give you the happy couple!’ he roars with delight, gesturing towards his brother and his new sister-in-law, setting off yet another round of cheering.

‘Call us that again, Wellington Shipwright, and I shall make sure you heartily regret it,’ Carolyn warns, her face serious once more. Wellington merely winks and mock-salutes her, to scattered giggling.

‘Yes, Ma’am,’ he replies obediently. Carolyn narrows her eyes. Someone pushes a glass of wine into Wellington’s free hand. He raises it in her direction as though toasting her and takes an elaborate sip. ‘My brother,’ he says, sobering up as the chatter dies down, his clear voice holding the attention of every guest, including Arthur. ‘Is a fool, and also a very brave man. How it took him so long to find this woman, I will never understand. How he gathered the courage to actually decide to marry her, I am equally baffled by – although I wouldn’t mind picking his brains for a tip or two.’ Again, he flashes his charming grin in Carolyn’s direction, and again the crowd titters with amusement. He is not handsome, exactly, but he has an irresistible sort of energy about him; it is difficult not to like him.

‘Seriously, though,’ he continues, gesturing for quiet. ‘I have never seen my brother so happy. Carolyn, you are a storm. You are probably the strongest person I have ever met, and I would wish you luck with handling my brother for the next fifty years or so, but I really don’t think you need it. He would do anything for you. The fact that you are, frankly, terrifying, has very little to do with it. The fact that he adores you, and the fact that you are actually – bewilderingly – willing to tolerate him for any length of time – are much more likely explanations.’

Herc is somehow managing to smile at the same time as looking like he would like to take the microphone from his brother’s hand and crack him over the head with it. Carolyn looks merely approving.

‘Hercules, you are my baby brother. You infuriate me, and I love you. You are caring, and cunning, and one of the most deceptively gentle people I have ever known. You have found yourself not only a worthy adversary and admirable partner, but three exceptional sons, and I urge you to never let them go. I wish all of you the very best of everything – till death do you part.’

‘Carolyn and Herc!’ calls Harrier, stepping forwards into the space between Wellington and Herc and raising a glass. 

‘Carolyn and Herc!’ echoes the crowd, and if even Carolyn’s smile is a little tremulous, he pretends not to notice. ‘Boys?’ Harrier asks gently, jerking his head in Wellington’s direction and raising his eyebrows. Arthur is the first to detach his hand from Carolyn’s. Martin and Douglas quickly follow him. Hearts beating wildly in their throats, dizzy from an intoxicating mixture of nerves and excitement, the little trio reach Wellington just after Harrier.

‘I think the boys have something they would like to say,’ Harrier tells the assembled guests, accepting the microphone from Wellington before the latter moves quietly away. ‘Are you ready?’ he adds quietly, looking at each of their faces in turn and crouching down briefly to their level. They boys nod solemnly. Even Arthur is quiet and still. Douglas grits his teeth and swallows. It is Martin who accepts the microphone from his new uncle.

Harrier claps him on the shoulder encouragingly and straightens up, staying close but moving back to give them space. They turn as one to face their mother. The three of them have eyes only for Carolyn now, although out of the corner of his eye Douglas notices Herc’s sister, Sarah, stepping forwards and linking arms supportively with the groom.

‘Umm,’ Martin begins, his voice trembling and croaky. He grips the microphone so tightly with both hands that his knuckles turn white. ‘We – we…’ Douglas reaches over and tugs one of his brother’s hands away, wrapping his fingers around it and squeezing. Arthur, on the other side, grips the edge of Martin’s jacket.

‘We wanted… to say…’ Martin’s chest is tight and he can feel his face heating up; he has practiced this so many times. He  _ has _ to get it right. He takes a deep breath.

‘We love you, Mum,’ he manages. He is looking straight into his mother’s eyes, so even from this distance he cannot miss the moisture in them, or fail to notice the hand she raises to cover her mouth, uncharacteristically touched. ‘And – and we want you to be happy, and –’  _ and everyone is looking at him, everyone is listening, and Mum looks like she is going to cry –  _ ‘and Herc makes you happy, and he makes us happy, so we want him to stay. We want you both to – to be proud of us, and – and to look after us, and we’ll be proud of you and look after you, too. We hope that –’ he glances up at Douglas, who widens his eyes and nods, then down at Arthur who copies Douglas’s gesture enthusiastically. ‘We hope that you always feel like you’re flying,’ Martin finishes finally, loudly and clearly, though his voice still shakes a little. He hands to microphone to Douglas.

‘We hope you can always fix your problems,’ Douglas adds smoothly, before leaning over and passing the microphone at last to Arthur, who grins and calls his wish out with confident abandon.

‘We hope everything is always brilliant!’ he says.

00000

The meal, such as it is, starts fairly quickly after that. The Shipwright siblings take it upon themselves to herd the other guests towards the food tables, giving Carolyn and her sons a few private moments together. Herc follows the crowd; he may be officially a member of the family now, but he will not impose on this. He is careful, too, not to comment on the slight redness of Carolyn’s eyes when she finds him again. He knows better than to draw attention to such things.

The boys, released from wedding duties, scatter to seek out their own favourite relatives and friends. Martin makes a beeline for Herc’s father, who is almost as interested in aeroplanes as he is. Arthur scurries towards the food table. Douglas dawdles on the outskirts, wondering absently if anyone would notice him slipping a glass of wine from among the refreshments. He has never tasted wine before. He has just begun edging forwards when a voice at his side stops him in his tracks.

‘One sip,’ it says. 

‘I – Auntie Diana!’ Douglas exclaims, momentarily forgetting his plans. Diana is in fact Carolyn’s cousin, rather than her sister, but the title has stuck. In any case she has proved a far preferable aunt to Ruth, who has not deigned to show up today; Douglas is unsure whether she was even invited.

‘One sip,’ she repeats firmly, holding out her own glass and raising her eyebrows. Douglas opens his mouth to deny having even considered the matter, then realises he hasn’t actually been accused of anything.

‘Thank you,’ he says carefully, taking the glass.

‘You won’t like it,’ Diana assures him. Douglas, determined to prove her wrong, almost succeeds in hiding his grimace at the unfamiliar taste before he returns the drink to her. ‘I told you,’ she says in a superior sort of voice which Douglas would resent if he weren’t so determined to perfect it himself.

‘How did you know?’ Douglas  _ really _ hopes that didn’t sound as petty as he thinks it did.

‘No one does at your age,’ Diana replies simply. ‘Give it a few years, then have another go.’ There is a pause, in which Douglas tries to figure out an inconspicuous way of leading them towards the soft drinks table – he could definitely do with some apple juice to wash that taste away – and Diana surveys the room disinterestedly.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ Douglas announces at last, ‘and I have an idea.’

‘Oh?’ Diana turns her sharp eyes to his deceptively soft ones and smiles wickedly. ‘This sounds rather promising.’

00000

‘Stop worrying,’ Herc murmurs soothingly, raising a single eyebrow at Carolyn, who is once again sweeping the room for a glimpse of her sons.

‘Hercules, I will forgive that ridiculous instruction only because you don’t yet know any better. As from now, however, that excuse is void. Besides which, I am not worried. I am sensibly concerned.’

‘They’ll be fine,’ Herc puts his free arm around Carolyn’s shoulders, and though she stiffens she does not move away. ‘They’re the youngest people here. This room is full of people who are perfectly capable of keeping an eye out for them.’

‘Wrong,’ Carolyn replies firmly. ‘This room is full not only of your family, but mine as well. Including Diana. Evidently you have never encountered my cousin and my eldest son in the same room before, but I can assure you it isn’t the boys’ safety I’m concerned for.’

‘They can’t be all that bad, surely?’ Herc huffs a small laugh. Douglas is mischievous and growing more skilled at deception and scheming by the day, but he is only twelve. Diana is, to Douglas’s knowledge, not totally dissimilar to Carolyn. Surely she will be able to keep one pre-teen boy in line?

‘Hmm,’ Carolyn responds, clearly unconvinced.

‘Come on,’ Herc takes one step away and holds out his hand with a winning smile. ‘Let’s dance.’

00000

The next five minutes pass, to Carolyn’s increasingly mistrustful surprise, without incident. The song changes from something rather jaunty to a slow and gentle tune which has Herc’s face melting into his most infuriating smile. Carolyn permits him to place a hand at her waist, and takes the opportunity with each turn to scan the room for sight of her sons.

She spots Martin first. He is following Herc’s father around with a rapturous expression on his face, questioning the man minutely on every aspect of aviation he can think of. Carolyn can just hear her new father-in-law’s patient, detailed replies, if she concentrates. He seems rather pleased to have found such an eager pupil.

‘I love you,’ Herc whispers, as they turn slowly together.

‘I had surmised as much,’ Carolyn replies, although with more amusement than derision. Herc smiles into her hair, his chin pressed against the side of Carolyn’s head, his heart lighter than he has ever known it.

‘Over there,’ Herc says softly, nodding to indicate direction and turning them gently once more. Carolyn scans the crowd quickly and soon sees Arthur, perched happily on Tom Ballard’s knee. Diana’s partner is gesturing wildly, and Arthur’s face is lit up with excitement; evidently Tom is reciting yet another wild and almost certainly fictional account of his youth. Tom is, Carolyn sometimes thinks, quite mad, but he is also quite harmless. 

‘Thank you,’ she tells Herc quietly.

‘Don’t thank me yet,’ Herc cautions. Carolyn frowns and pulls back; Herc grimaces and points to a small figure winding his way through the other dancers, heading straight towards the DJ. Behind him, sitting and watching with a suspiciously satisfied look her face, is Cousin Diana.

00000

The DJ, not being a tall man, hardly has to bend his knees to bring his ear down to Douglas’s level. He listens intently to the boy’s request, and smiles conspiratorially as he glances over at the newlyweds. 

‘Nice one, little man,’ he murmurs. Douglas raises his eyebrows with an expression of disdain at least ten years too old for his face. ‘Sorry,’ the DJ adds, and gets to work.

00000

Herc recognises the tune almost the moment it begins. The boys – Arthur in particular – have had something of a fixation with the film in question for the past year. He fights the smile threatening to overtake his face as Carolyn scowls and shakes her head.

‘That little…’ Carolyn breathes furiously. She makes as though to move away from Herc, but the pressure of his hand at her waist stops her getting too far.

‘Oh, let him have his fun,’ Herc chuckles. ‘I like this song.’ 

‘You would,’ Carolyn purses her lips. Guests are starting to look around, some – those who know Carolyn best, and are suitably wary of incurring her wrath – struggling to keep their expressions blank, while others are openly amused, and one or two even aim a “thumbs up” in Douglas’s direction. Douglas salutes them, lazily pleased with himself.

‘It’s appropriate, don’t you think?’ Herc asks, biting the inside of his cheek in an obviously exaggerated attempt to quell his own smirk.

‘Stop talking,’ Carolyn warns. She narrows her eyes across the room at her eldest son, giving him her most severe head shake before another pair of giggling dancers move to block her view.

‘You disagree?’

‘I believe you know the answer to that question already, Hercules, and I suggest you do not ask it again. Unless of course you  _ plan _ on this being quite the shortest marriage in human history?’

‘You’re smiling,’ Herc counters smugly. ‘That’s a smile.’

‘It most certainly is not,’ Carolyn is vehement, though unable to entirely twist her expression into the contemptuousness she is aiming for.

‘You are  _ allowed _ to smile, dearest. It is our wedding day.’

‘In which case it is high time you learned a very important lesson, Hercules.’

‘Oh not to worry, Carolyn. I am officially shutting up as of now.’ 

‘You had better be.’

Herc smiles again, softly, and presses a kiss to Carolyn’s forehead. He catches Douglas’s eye from over Carolyn’s carefully coifed hair and nods almost imperceptibly. Douglas winks.

Carolyn – stiffly and with every outward appearance of extreme reluctance – allows her head to turn, and rests her cheek against Herc’s chest as the song draws slowly to an end.

Allowed to smile on her wedding day indeed. 

Hercules has a lot to learn.

 

  
 

**Author's Note:**

> So... there you go. (Don't worry - or do, depending on what you thought of this I guess - this is not the end of the series. It's just quite a big hurdle for us all - myself and the characters, that is.)
> 
> I have wanted to include that song in a Herc/Carolyn fic for _literally years_. I do hope it wasn't too forced. I just couldn't pass the opportunity up. I tried to fit in lyrics somewhere in the actual fic, but it just didn't really work. So just play the song over the final scene(s) instead.
> 
> Oh, and Martin's thoughts about where he will stand should Herc and Carolyn have another child are very much inspired by real life. I'm the second of four, and I was only a little younger than Martin when my youngest brother was born. It seemed important somehow, when I was that age, to figure out what "position" I would hold.
> 
> Happy Holidays!


End file.
